Spectator poems
From the magazine

Yellow and Blue (The Miner’s Vision)

Rebecca Watts
EXPLORE THE ISSUE 04 October 2025
issue 04 October 2025

What’s day to a miner?

Shovels and picks.

Ten fathoms deep

the mind plays tricks.

Like: I’m lying in bed

with the sun flooding in.

I’m married

to a bright young thing

in a yellow dress.

She sings to me.

I pull her close.

My hands are clean.

My hands aren’t clean.

We dream the day

then rise at dusk

to claim our pay

with coated hands.

Example two:

above the cart,

a chink of blue

waving

like a tiny flame

that somehow knows me,

calls my name

and guides us

to a richer seam.

Shovel, pick,

shovel, pick,

the sun’s a ghost,

the light’s a trick –

yet who’s to say

the light’s not true?

The mind does

what it has to do

to save itself

from total dark.

And thought’s a spark.